Dorothy Parker is my homegirl.

Song Of One Of The Girls

Here in my heart I am Helen;
I'm Aspasia and Hero, at least.
I'm Judith, and Jael, and Madame de Stael;
I'm Salome, moon of the East.

Here in my soul I am Sappho;
Lady Hamilton am I, as well.
In me Recamier vies with Kitty O'Shea,
With Dido, and Eve, and poor Nell.

I'm one of the glamorous ladies
At whose beckoning history shook.
But you are a man, and see only my pan,
So I stay at home with a book.

I might still be drunk.

1. Star Jones! Getting divorced! Not that I really care, but they mentioned that her real name is "Starlet" and I find that especially hilarious.

2. Dudes in Congo are freaking out because black magicians are stealing their dicks. No, really. Which is probably traumatic for them. But like, if you could have a magical power.... that might be kind of amusing one to have. I'm just saying.

3. Bush quote of the day, via Slate: "Oftentimes people ask me, 'Why is it that you're so focused on helping the hungry and diseased in strange parts of the world?' "—Washington, D.C., April 18, 2008.

4. Wow! Ok, so this is this website... that harasses your exes for you to find out why they dumped you. No, really! I don't see why it's necessary, as I would imagine that it's because, well, you are the sort of person that would enlist the services of a website to help you harass someone to find out why they dumped you. That's your damned answer. You're creepy. Then again, what do I know? That could be a totally attractive quality to some people- I've often noted that my personal insistance on things like having dignity has been troublesome in my personal life. But I'd rather stick things in my eyes. Repeatedly. I can't understand why someone would not find doing such a thing to be abjectly humiliating! Also, honestly can't imagine what I would do were I to someday receive a number of email surveys asking me why I ditched some dude. I would probably file a restraining order.

Oh Cosmo!

Man, I have to tell you- not nearly as much hilarity as expected in the "Sexy" issue! I was a bit disappointed- 'cause mostly it was like, "Hey! I'm a 31 year old chick who has invented this amazing new move which is exactly like a hand job!" and "Surprise! Guys want to do you in the ass! Did you know?" and "Act pleasantly surprised when you see his junk! Say 'Oooh!' and 'Aaaah!'" and also lots of toungue swirling and also the word panties came up like 85 times (I have a thing against that word. It really bothers me. I prefer "knickers."). Not so much fun. Until, of course, I came upon this glorious gem:

"Sprinkle a little pepper under his nose right before he climaxes. Sneezing can feel similar to an orgasm and amplify the feel-good effects."

Yup. Now, first of all- just in case you don't think these things through as deeply as I do...

WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GETTING THE PEPPER FROM?

I mean, what? Do you keep a pepper grinder handy on the bedside table for just this occasion? Or must you secretly palm the pepper inside your fist the whole time? Because I imagine that would make everything else fairly awkward. I can't figure a smooth transition either way. Like what? "Hold on! Let me lean over and grab this pepper grinder!" And really, what is one to think when confronted with someone wielding a pepper grinder in their face? And what if it got in the dude's eye and then you'd have to go to the hospital and explain that you were grinding pepper on him so he'd sneeze while you were doing it! How embarassing! What if he went blind? Also, who wants to be sneezed on? Not me, not ever. Sneezing is not sexy. Nor is being covered in snot. It is why we have Kleenex.

Oh, also! Cosmo's Man Manual has informed me that all you dudes are totally psyched for the Counting Crows comeback! Who knew?

I feel pretty, oh so pretty!

Just as I was starting to look practically transluscent, just as I was about to set my wardrobe aflame... the universe dropped this in my lap.

www.mugshotdujour.com

I am hot! And so are you! At least comparitively! I didn't even know a face could be arranged in such a manner!


(Arrested for domestic violence... think about that! Someone married this guy! And it's not even as though he has a good personality- you know, wife beatin' and all... hope for everyone?)

And even if you're thinking right now "God, Robyn is a horrible and shallow bitch"- you will have to find some amusement in this:


(arrested for cocaine)

Varied and Sundry.

1. I have eaten too many grapes today.
2. This almost made me choke on one.
3. I am going to bed soon.
4. After reading about the stray cougar in Chicago (And by the way... can I just mention that at first I totally thought they were talking about one of those older women who date 18 year old boys)- which of course reminded me of "Bringing Up Baby"- I spent an inordinate amount of time today comparing and contrasting myself with Katherine Hepburn (we are both feministy ladies from New England with considerable skills in verbal sparring- however, she looks good in wide brim hats, whereas I prefer cloches and berets, and while I find Spencer Tracey quite dreamy, I cannot say that I would have gone for Howard Hughes- I'm big on shoes and I think the Kleenex boxes would have freaked me out). There's more, but I won't bore you with it.
5. You know what's weird? When women on TV say that they've been planning their wedding since they were little girls, and that this is something all women do. In case you were wondering... no. I have thought and planned and schemed many, many things in my time, but I have never, ever once in my life planned a wedding inside my head. I have never fantasized about a wedding gown. Not once. Ever. I do not personally know anyone who has done this. I imagine such people would not have many interesting things to say. Also- can you even begin to picture me screaming "THIS IS MY SPECIAL DAY!!" with a straight face?
6. Am number one hit on Google for Bavarian Sluts! Yeah!
7. Am like number 200 on Google Croatia for Older Vagina! (someone was on a quest! But why? Is that a thing?)
8. Hate all of my clothes. Hate all clothes in all stores visited recently. Look horrifying in everything. Got stuck in a subway grate in the rain the other day and fell- still bruisy. Would like some candy, have only grapes.
9. Recently discovered! While a package of unshelled pistachios may seem like the best thing ever, it is not, as all unshelled pistachios contained within package taste like death and poison! Will go back to breaking nails and possibly teeth on shells presently. To love is to suffer. Sigh.
10. Would it be bad if, for just a moment- just a moment, I thought to myself that I would totally volunteer to be Rob Lowe's new nanny? Because I kinda did. Damn you "The Outsiders!" I watched you too many times as a kid to think of Mr. Lowe as anything other than dreamy!

Here is a very long thingy that I wrote for my experimental theatre class.

It's supposed to be somewhat based on Gertrude Stein's writing techniques (a rose is a rose is a rose!), but as a fan of commas, I don't believe I succeeded completely in that effect. I am, however, quite fond of the result. I've written about this particular incident before, but this is a little bit different.

Airport

I am a failure at planes and also at airports. I am a failure at planes and airports because being at an airport encompasses every thing I am a failure at. I am a failure at punctuality, I am a failure at being calm in enclosed spaces, I am a failure at removing my shoes in a timely manner and without falling down, I am failure at being ok with not being able to smoke.


I get on the plane and a woman complains- she can’t sit up front because she’s sensitive. The woman is sensitive to another woman’s perfume. Because the woman is sensitive, the flight attendant asks if someone in the back will switch seats with her. I do not volunteer to switch seats with the sensitive woman, because I find sensitive people hilarious. I do not volunteer, because I always like to see what happens next. I do not volunteer, because I just finally got settled in my seat and am not eager to repeat the process, nor knock any other unsuspecting passengers in the head with my bags. But someone does volunteer, and that person is probably a better person than I.

The sensitive woman comes back down the aisle. The sensitive woman comes back down the aisle sporting a Christmas sweater and a face that ought not be left around dairy products. The sensitive woman comes down the aisle and sits in front and to the left of me. The sensitive woman tells her seatmate that she requires sole use of the middle armrest.

I laugh, and the sensitive woman does not notice, no, the sensitive woman takes out a book. The sensitive woman takes out a book called “Left Behind.” The book, “Left Behind,” is about people being vacuumed up into heaven, and is read solely by people who believe they are going to be vacuumed up into heaven. I am not surprised that the sensitive woman believes she will be vacuumed into heaven, since she is wearing a Christmas sweater. A Christmas sweater with reindeer and jingle bells and rhinestones and snowmen and everything else that might be on a Christmas sweater because she is just that festive and holy and that’s why she is going to be vacuumed up into heaven.

I have read about this rapture stuff- the being vacuumed up into heaven stuff- I read it in a comic-style pamphlet by a man named Jack T. Chick. Apparently, all the really holy people get vacuumed up into heaven, and then the people who are maybe not so completely holy have to stay down here with us totally non-holy people. And then, all of us non-holy people have to like, opress them, try to make them wear “the mark of the beast” and cut off their heads. Then, after they resist our forces of oppression, and sacrifice themselves, they get to go to heaven with the people who had been vacuumed up earlier. Like I’m ever going to get around to doing that. Like I’m ever going to get around to cutting anyone’s head off when I can hardly get around to picking up my dry cleaning! How can I cut anyone’s head off when I faint at the sight of blood and am no help in emergencies whatsoever? Frankly, I think they ought to have to do it themselves.

The flight attendant comes by and asks if anyone needs a a drink. The flight attendant comes by and the sensitive woman asks for a mineral water. The flight attendant hands the sensitive woman a bottle of water, causing the sensitive woman to snarl through her teeth “I asked for mineral water. This is spring water! I can’t drink this!” She says it through her teeth, in a tone I would probably reserve for someone handing me a glass of bile, and then kicking my grandmother down the stairs and then eating a puppy. But she is sensitive and I am not and neither I nor the flight attendant are completely sure what the huge difference is between mineral water and spring water. The flight attendant tells the sensitive woman that all they have is spring water, and the sensitive woman says she will write a letter to complain about this injustice. She will write a letter and have the flight attendant fired, she says, because there should be mineral water and there is not. I have a ginger ale.

Important!!! I have seen cars with bumperstickers that say “In case of rapture this car will be unmanned.” And this sensitive woman is on a plane, believing that it is indeed possible that at any moment she will be vacuumed up into heaven. If the car were unmanned- couldn’t that cause an accident? And kill people? And if this very sensitive holy woman was suddenly vacuumed up into heaven, wouldn’t that cause the windows to break and wouldn’t that also kill a lot of people? If I were this woman, which I am not, and I am not sensitive and I am not holy- but if I really, truly believed that at any moment I could be vacuumed up into the sky, I would probably avoid doing anything such as driving and flying in planes, because I wouldn’t want to kill anyone. And maybe it’s not murder exactly, but it’s at least manslaughter. I watch a lot of Law and Order. I watch a lot of Law and Order and I’ve seen several episodes of Law and Order in which someone goes to jail for doing something that could forseeably lead to another person’s death or murder. I just saw one the other day where this guy, who was clearly supposed to be the guy from “Girls Gone Wild,” rapes this girl on a bus, and then sends his friend in, saying that the girl wants to do him next, and then the girl bashes the friends head in with a champagne bottle and kills him, and the guy who was supposed to be the guy from Girls Gone Wild went to jail for the other guys murder. And isn’t one of the major commandments “Thou shalt not kill?” So how is it ok if you kill a bunch of people in the process of being vacuumed up into heaven? Do you get sent back down to hell if that happens, or are they ok with that? Are they ok with being rude to a flight attendant over having the wrong sort of bottled water? I am not sensitive, or holy, but I have lovely manners.

One thing I have learned from the very few people who think they are going to be vacuumed up into heaven that are willing to speak to me, is that it is in fact basically fine with Jesus if you are a jerk. All you have to do to be ok with Jesus and be vacuumed up into heaven, is to accept him as your personal savior, and then you can go on about your business and be as unpleasant to as many flight attendants as you like. This, I hear, is the big difference between people who think they are going to be vacuumed up to heaven and Catholics, who do not believe such a thing will occur- which is why I never heard of people thinking such a thing until I was like, 20- because everyone where I grew up was either Catholic, Jewish or not-religious-but-would-be-a-Buddhist-if-they-were, and none of those people believe in the rapture. I have been informed by the few people who believe they are going to be vacuumed up into heaven that will talk to me that the Catholics are bad because they believe that “good works”- things like helping the poor and the diseased- will get them into heaven. The people who believe they will be vacuumed up into heaven say that Jesus would really prefer that you go ahead and be a jerk, but accept him as your personal savior, and be opposed to gay people and also abortions- and if you do that, you will be vacuumed up into heaven. It’s somewhat ironic, since, as a non-sensitive, non-holy person, the thing I actually like about the Catholics is that they do some pretty awesome things for the poor. It seems kind of icky to put someone down for that. I would think that the child molesting cover-ups, or the wars, or the crazy sexism, or the tithing might be more offensive. To me, that’s like saying “You know what the worst thing about Hitler was? The fact that he was a vegetarian! Damn him!”- but then again, I am not sensitive, or holy, and I do not believe I will be vacuumed up to the sky. And if I did, I just don’t think I’d have it in me to fly in a plane or drive a car or do anything really that would surely kill or maim other people. Which is another reason why I am not interested in beheading anyone. I also cannot picture myself going about demanding that people get “666” tattooed on their foreheads. I just don’t think that a tattoo on the forehead is an especially classy look for anyone. If anything, I’d just like to demand, or perhaps just suggest, that people not wear cargo pants, or Uggs, or those shirts with flames on them from Pacific Sunwear circa 1996, or bedazzled Christmas sweaters.

Most amazing holiday ever.

And I missed celebrating it! I'm so sad! Aparently in South Korea, on April 14th, people who are not in love wear black and eat black food! I mean, that's pretty much every day for me- I look ridiculous in colors and I subsist primarily on black coffee- so, maybe I was celebrating and I didn't even realize it! Or something!

Meh. I don't know, I'm not one of those "blah, I'm going to mope around because I'm single!" types- and on the other hand, I'm not all Larry from Three's Company about it either- frankly, that's quite creepy. I seem to attract a lot of fellas like that- I think because I seem like the sort of person one is supposed to see whilst sowing oats and whatnot. I haven't been said person lately as I haven't had much inclination or energy lately to be whimsical- which is one of the required traits of the job. I have yet to be fairly compensated for my enlightenment and un-repression services and have thus grown tired of the arrangement. I have mental fantasies of saying this to most fellas I meet:

"Let's just fast forward through this whole thing, doll, because I don't have all day. What's going to happen here is that you're going to hang out with me for a few weeks, which will be a good time because I am indeed a good time. I will remind you of June Miller, or Marla Singer, or Lauren Bacall or whomever. But, then, you'll have some epiphany in which you realize that what you really want is that Nice Girl over there. She's a little bit homely, and not quite as fun, or as smart or as clever or as interesting- but she's sweet and she's stable, and that's what you really need after all!"

It would be so much easier that way. And I wouldn't have to bother with shaving my legs for the experience.

New obsession!

Ok, so Rock of Love is over (though can I just say that "Ambre" winning is such bullshit?), and Bindi Irwin hasn't done anything exciting/horrifying in a while...

Thank goodness for Khia!

Last night I watched "Miss Rap Supreme" on VH1... and it was all I'd hoped it would be, and more... except that the awesome chick rapping about Challah bread did not make it on the show (I so want to be her BFF). But Khia did! You may recall Khia as the chick who sang that song that made you never ever want to have sex again--- My Neck, My Back!

I'm sorry... nothing anyone can ever do or say will make the term "crack" sound sexy. It is just not. Also, may I just say... my favorite part of this video is the slip n slide?

AAAAAAAANYway. Bitch is hilarious. Just watch the show... but what's even more awesome is that she writes an advice column for Hood Magazine! Check it out, it will rock your face.

I am the number one Google search term for "Ayn Rand sucks ass"

And I'm proud of that. It's something. I'm bored at work. Catherine and I are listening to opera and being cultured! And fancy!

Oh, and I signed up for that Google Ads thing, because basically I like free money. And they have decided that you, the two or three people who occasionally read this- or who are led here by searching for "Ayn Rand sucks ass" (which I hope is meant as a character assessment and not a porn. Because that would give me nightmares), are in need of potty training help. It would not surprise me.

Did you know that the word gullible is not in the dictionary?

It's hard to be surprised these days by what people will believe. Especially teenagers. I mean, in 8th grade I convinced a bunch of dudes that they could get high by smelling opium incense. And they totally did it too, and then subsequently pretended that they were in fact high. It was rather amusing. I also sold them oregano! Ok but this is way more retarded than that.

These kids in Florida think that you can prevent HIV by doing a shot of... bleach. And that Mountain Dew prevents pregnancies! Really? Really? I mean, sure, this makes it pretty obvious that comprehensive sex ed is needed- duh... but also, I wonder: You know that saying "Well! If you believe that, I've got some land in Florida I'd like to sell you!"

Are these the children of the people who bought that land? Really, because how retarded do you have to be to buy that one? I mean- I am not all that swift, and I can't imagine I would have believed that at age 10, nevermind as a teenager. And may I just say... at age 10, when my fifth grade english class "adopted" a manatee... I totally thought it was going to show up and that I'd get to take it home for the weekend. That's how much of a genius I am.

A Personal Dream

My favorite soap opera, "Passions" is officially over. I haven't seen it in a year or so, since it moved to Direct TV- but it still holds a special place in my heart. Especially Timmy.



Anyway, it reminds me of something I've always wanted... a magical booze cart. You see, on soap operas, whenever you are in a room with a magical booze cart, and you want to talk about someone else in the room without them hearing you, you go over to the booze cart, pour yourself a brandy from a tacky piece of crystal. Then, you begin some random soliloquy about how they must never know you are doing their husband/plotting to kill them/secretly your own evil twin and they will not be able to hear you. It's true.

So if you really love me, go here and get me one.

Just get on the floor and do the New Kids dance!

Oh man...



Yes, it's the New Kids. NKOTB, if you will. Except they're not "new" these days so much as they are "old." Especially the one who was always old.

It seems like just yesterday (or not really) that I was sitting in my friend Heather's living room swooning over their cartoon (which totally existed in case you were wondering) and taking turns hugging her New Kids pillow with all their faces emblazoned upon it. Seriously. Guess who was my favorite?




Oh yes. Jordan. Hey, at least it wasn't the monkey faced one, or the old one. I had this doll, which actually came complete with the rattail hanging off the back of his head. I slept with this doll at night. And to this day, I'm not actually sure if I did in fact like the New Kids or if I was just trying to fit in and have something in common with the other kids. Because at that age I mostly listened to the Oldies station. Anyway, regardless of the music, I did think Jordan was kind of a sex machine.

Fun fact: He was totally wearing a Bauhaus shirt in the video for "The Right Stuff." (See?) I actually still own the "Hangin' Tough" video collection. It's comedy gold- mostly due to the Bergman-esque documentary interludes.

I also have The NKOTB coffee table book, which I credit as being the first piece of erotica I ever owned (it totally predates my first reading of Delta of Venus). No, really- it was creepily overtly sexual for something intended to be owned by an 8 year old girl. There was this one picture of Jordan with some presumably naked chick (although you only saw her stomach and I think some sideboob) and there's this quote above it where he talks about how he has dreams where he's soaring through the air, and then he's (and I quote, it's burned into my memory) "having sex with the flyest girl." Yes, the flyest one of all! I think the old one or the monkey face one talked about doing it too, but that was just gross. Anyway, I was not so surprised later when Jordan turned out to be a total perv.



Carnival sex? Kinky! And also... eew.

Oh, and here's something you probably don't remember! The New Kids have actually tried to reinvent themselves before. Yeah, when Gangsta Rap got popular. Check this shit out, dawg. Clearly, they are rebels who will never be any good.



You know they were all like "Whatevs Snoop Dogg. We can dress up like halloween pimps and make weirdly misogynistic allusions to bestiality too, you know." You know, I don't care what kind of SuperChristian Joey is now (he's made Jesus albums, you know). Those New Kids were into some weird ass shit.

Told you I was just friendly.

Apparently (gasp!) men have a tendency to interpret "friendly" body language as "sexual interest" body language.

No, really? You must be kidding!

I have a tendency to do the opposite. I have been on more dates that I didn't know were dates than I could possibly tell you. I am oblivious. It's kind of funny, because sometimes I'll run into these dudes and they'll be all drunk and telling me about how I totally dissed them on that date I wasn't aware that we had. Then I'll feel kind of like a jerk for a minute because I had assumed it was a platonic thing... but not really, because frankly- you should TELL someone if they are on a date, not just figure they caught on somehow. Especially if said person is anything like me. I also tend to get a lot of fella's who think I am trying to seduce them in some saucy film noir type manner, which I'm not. I just kind of sound like Lauren Bacall. Or um, whatsherface... Kathleen Turner. Or Barry White. Fact is, I'm very immature. If I actually like someone, I will usually express this by throwing something at their head or picking fights. I have not progressed much since junior high.

The Pushkin Problem

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/30/books/review/Donadio-t.html?em&ex=1207108800&en=3c42341da951f2dd&ei=5087%0A

Personally, I have to say- I dump/date people for really retarded reasons. No way in hell would I date someone who thought Ayn Rand was awesome, and let me tell you- I find this to be a completely rational decision, because anyone who thinks Ayn Rand is awesome would be completely incompatible with me altogether. Ayn Rand sucks ass. And that Judy Heiblum is right- dudes who carry around copies of "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" are sooooo worth avoiding. Trust me (also, let me tell you- they haven't ever actually read it.).

On the other hand, I think dudes who like Henry Miller and Dostoevsky are ridiculously sexified. But I'll also think they're pretty dreamy if they've heard Mel Brooks and Carl Reiner's "The 2000 Year Old Man" or are way into Marx Brothers or Woody Allen movies. But it's not just about "Oh, you're this way because you like these specific things"- it's also about having a similar frame of reference for conversational purposes. That's really what I think is important.

I'd write more, but my keyboard is being a pain in the ass. Oy.

I'm on Oprah, bitches!

Guess who is totally famous? I'll give you a clue, it's me.



Ok, maybe not. I was on Oprah for all of five seconds, and for some reason they only selected all the really stupid sounding things I said.

In the "interview" I stated that I felt that the smoking ban, with the 15 feet away from the door (and, obviously, the bouncer) rule, was dangerous for women. Personally, I'd like it to be my decision to go into a bar- it's no longer my choice and I don't like that. I live by two bars, and thus must now deal with drunk people against my will. Not fun. And loud. Very loud. The other issue is that now we're going to have women leaving their drinks at bars to go smoke and getting roofied. Which is not fucking cool.

I also said that I believe that smoking bans are primarily a way for a city or state to look like they're doing something good for people, without it actually costing them any money or real effort. And then, you know, you can take people's minds off important things like the war, and the war against reproductive choice, and the homeless, and sweatshops and everything else in the world that sucks ass.

But of course, they did not include that part. Oh well.

Does This Toilet Seat Make My Ass Look Big?

I know people read, talk on the phone and spend quite a lot of time on the toilet (hell my father would spend a good two hours on there every morning and probably still does) but I can't imagine being there so long the actual toilet seat BECOMES a part of your body. Read on:

WICHITA, Kansas (AP) -- A 35-year-old woman who sat on her boyfriend's toilet for so long that her body was stuck to the seat had a phobia about leaving the bathroom, the boyfriend said.

Police say Pam Babcock apparently spent two years living in the bathroom of her boyfriend's mobile home.

"She is an adult; she made her own decision," said her boyfriend, Kory McFarren. "I should have gotten help for her sooner; I admit that. But after a while, you kind of get used to it."

The case drew nationwide attention after Ness County Sheriff Bryan Whipple said it appeared the Ness City woman's skin had grown around the seat in the two years she apparently was in the bathroom.

"We pried the toilet seat off with a pry bar and the seat went with her to the hospital," Whipple said. "The hospital removed it."

McFarren, 36, said he can't be certain how long Pam Babcock stayed in the bathroom because "time just went by so quick I can't pinpoint how long." He said beatings she received in her childhood caused her phobia.

"It just kind of happened one day; she went in and had been in there a little while, the next time it was a little longer. Then she got it in her head she was going to stay -- like it was a safe place for her," McFarren said.

But McFarren said she moved around in the bathroom during that time, bathed and changed into the clothes he brought her. He brought food and water to her. They had conversations and had an otherwise normal relationship -- except it all happened in the bathroom.

McFarren said he finally called police February 27 after he became worried because Babcock was acting groggy -- like she didn't know what was going on, except she was awake.

What emergency responders found when they went into bathroom has left residents of this small western Kansas town buzzing, and law enforcement officials incredulous.

Police found the clothed woman sitting on the toilet, her sweat pants down to mid-thigh. She was "somewhat disoriented," and her legs looked like they had atrophied, Whipple said.

"She was not glued. She was not tied. She was just physically stuck by her body," Whipple said. "It is hard to imagine. ... I still have a hard time imagining it myself."

She initially refused emergency medical services, but was finally convinced by responders and her boyfriend that she needed to be checked out at a hospital.

"She said that she didn't need any help, that she was OK and did not want to leave," he said.

Whipple said the county attorney will determine whether any charges should be filed against McFarren.

McFarren, who works at an antique store, said he has been taking care of Babcock for the 16 years they have lived together. He insisted that he tried to coax her out of the bathroom every day.

"And her reply would be, `Maybe tomorrow,"' Whipple said. "According to him, she did not want to leave the bathroom."

She was reported in fair condition Wednesday at a hospital in Wichita, about 150 miles southeast of Ness City. Whipple said she has refused to cooperate with medical providers or law enforcement investigators.

Babcock has an infection in her legs that has damaged her nerves, and there is a possibility she may wind up in a wheelchair, McFarren said.

James Ellis, a neighbor, said he had known the woman since she was a child, but that he had not seen her for at least six years.

"I don't think anybody can make any sense out of it," Ellis said.

Babcock had a tough childhood after her mother died at a young age and apparently was usually kept inside the house as she grew up, he said.

"It really doesn't surprise me," Ellis said. "What surprises me is somebody wasn't called in a bit earlier."

This is how I brighten my own day, because I'm a terrible person.

At least I'm not this chick: http://hosted.ap.org/dynamic/stories/W/WOMAN_IN_BATHROOM?SITE=FLTAM&SECTION=US

More Debbie Reynolds vs. Elizabeth Taylor

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2008/03/11/nperfect111.xml

Oy. I'm at work right now. It's unbelievably dead. I still don't have internet at my place, for the same reason I haven't gotten an eliptical machine yet- lack of time and mechanical ability.

I'm a bit PMSy anyway, so this was just the icing on the cake. Normally I'd just be thinking "This article is completely retarded." Which it is. But because I'm all mentally retarded and feeling icky today, it makes me obscenely frustrated.

I don't know. I am the exact opposite of this article, and through my hormone clouded mind, I am trying to process how I feel about that- despite my feeling that it's complete and utter bullshit. It's just kind of a surreal feeling.

I am quite tall. I have dark brown, almost black hair. I have weird eyes that change color but are usually sort of a greyish green or greyish violet. I am exceedingly cynical. I do not have a car. I smoke. I drink. Often. And I have never eaten Wonderbread nor did I grow up on a farm. That last part I just threw in there, because that's something I've always thought about when irrationally pondering what might be wrong with me.

None of my friends are short, long blonde haired, none-too-intelligent, uncynical types either. Nor are they girl-next-door types. Which is something I like about them. I hate that term, however, as it implies I don't have neighbors, which I do. In fact, I've had many neighbors in the course of my non-girl next door life. One of them was an Elvis impersonator. Which, frankly, I feel should mean that I win. Which I don't, but still.

I am supposed to die of consumption at the end of the film. This much I know. That, and I would look pretty much retarded with long blonde hair. I have a picture somewhere of me in a wig. It's quite disturbing, to say the least. I gotta tell you, this whole thing sort of makes me feel quite sensible about my recent decision to embark on another manfast. It makes more sense than cutting off half of my legs, at least.

But I feel a little bit like a bad feminist today.

Oh Save Us From Daylight "Savings"

I found this on Yahoo Tech!  Love it!  The last line is my favorite :)

It's official: Daylight Saving Time is a bust. Designed (and recently extended) as a measure to save energy in a period of inflated electricity prices, an in-depth University of California study has now shown that DST doesn't save anyone any money at all. In fact, it's costing consumers extra, to the tune of $3.19 in extra utility bills per year.

The study was made possible because of the peculiarities of the state of Indiana, which was only partially on DST until 2006. When the whole state finally went DST (to sync with the national business day), some comparisons vs. the prior method were made apparent. The study calculated that the shift costs Indiana residents an extra $8.6 million in electricity bills in total.

Why? Shouldn't they be, well, saving daylight -- and burning fewer light bulbs?

They are, said the study. But while lighting bills were reduced, air-conditioning units had to run more often, because people were home on hot afternoons when they'd otherwise be still at the office. Heaters had to be run on cool mornings, too, when people got up and it was still dark outside.

Professor Matthew Kotchen, who pioneered the study, noted, "I've never had a paper with such a clear and unambiguous finding as this."

This isn't the first time the energy-saving rationale of Daylight Saving Time has been attacked. The first was in 1976, three years after DST went into effect, when the National Bureau of Standards found that there was no significant energy savings after the switch. The recent expansion of DST to a few extra weeks was also revealed to have saved no energy during its run. And yet here we are...

In related news, it was also revealed that Daylight Saving Time actually creates no additional daylight.

I know it's been a while...

And I guess this has been something of an abandoned project for me. But I'm bringing it back. Why? For a variety of reasons, none of which are all that interesting.

To tide those of you over who still have me on your rolls or subscriptions, until I get some new things to say, here is something I posted on my myspace blog a bit ago, and then updated today. It's a full life.

List of things that Cosmo thinks are sexy but are in fact not (updated!).

1. Wigs. A big Cosmo sex tip has always been "wear a wig in bed so he feels like he's with another woman!" If this works for you, I feel like you have a lot more problems than it can possibly solve. Number one being the fact that a wig stays on your head the whole time. I had enough trouble keeping the wig on my head this Halloween just walking around bars. Obviously, you're doing something wrong. Also, you're dating someone who can keep a straight face while you're wearing one, when any normal person would not be able to. People look stupid in wigs. Frankly, if he wants to do someone else that much, he can go ahead and do so. Really, knock yourself out buddy. I'm not wearing a freakin' wig.

2. Notes. This is another big one. Once upon a time they even had these little cards that you could cut out of the magazine and put into your boyfriends pocket or whatever, that said "I'm not wearing any underwear" or "I'm totally gonna do you later" and various things to that effect. First of all, you put something like that in someones pocket, and things can go terribly wrong. Like when they pay for coffee that morning. I bet there are a lot of very confused baristas waiting on the boyfriends of Cosmo subscribers. Also, I don't see how the thing about not wearing underwear really helps anyone who is not present at the time.

3. Striptease classes. Jen and I were just discussing this yesterday. This is another issue of taking yourself waaay too seriously. I once took a burlesque class at the gym, and totally lost it when they started making us crawl around on the floor. You'd also have to figure that anyone you were doing this for has already seen you naked before (otherwise that might just be the most hilarious one-night stand story ever, next to mine about the guy who tried to slow dance with me to "Lady in Red"), which means it's not like he's going to see anything new, unless you've grown another nipple over night or something. Which would not be that sexy.

4. Edible underwear. The logic of edible underwear has long perplexed me. You can't just happen to have it on beforehand, because it would get all linty and gross, and I imagine it would not be all that comfortable walking around all day with a fruit roll-up in your pants. Either you'd have to be all "oh, let me change into something a little more comfortable" and come out wearing it, or put it on during... I don't get it. It's all too complicated and tedious. I also don't think eating a fruit roll-up is all that awesome of a time.

5. Jen reminded me about this one... This one time, Cosmo suggested you put a donut on his man parts and eat it off. I don't even know where to begin with this one, except to say that a) Donuts. Not hot. and be b) if the donut fits... I wouldn't expect a great time otherwise.

6. Naughty Jenga. Yup. Naughty...Jenga. Roll that one around your head for a moment. I bought the new issue of Cosmo last night, and this was one of the ways to become "closer to your man." By writing "naughty suggestions" on the Jenga blocks, and then playing Jenga... or something, I don't know. It's Naughty Jenga! And you lead an unbelievably sad life!

7. Ok, this is my theory. The editors of Cosmo are just really, really hungry. They are STARVING. Otherwise, there is just no viable explanation for the bad erotica in the back this month. What Cosmo calls its "red hot read." Which is about some dude who totally loves this girl that he just met five minutes for her awesome self and not her 80 bajillion dollars, who chases her out of a party in order to make sure she is ok, and then proceeds to break out.... the ice cream.

"He really is going to make me into his own personal sundae! Dani thought, and then gasped."

NO! No no no no no no no.

8. They give you a schedule of what to talk about with "your man:"

1) On Friday night, ask him how his buddies are doing
2.) Saturday, in bed, ask him to spill his "in the sack" fantasy.
3.) Sunday morning- "Lounge in bed while planning next weekend"

Oy! Ok, here is a tip. If you need a magazine to help you schedule talking to another human being, you need to be in a sheltered workshop. Seriously. In fact, if you read Cosmo for any other reason than the fact that it is totally fucking hilarious, you need to be in a sheltered workshop. It's pretty much a fact.